Forgetting
by Calex
Summary: In the final battle and the fall of Voldemort, Severus Snape loses more than just a dark lord. BtVS crossed with Harry Potter


1110 words (does that count as a drabble?) Mini-one shot

Dedicated to Echo, another one of my Willow/Snape drabbles

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Willow is Joss' and Snape is Rowling's. 

He was dreaming, he had to be. One moment, he felt like he was going to die from the heat, could only see blackness, could only feel the bone melting pain coursing through his body, he'd nearly seen that "light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel" thing people kept blathering about seeing if they're nearly dead... then he felt the cold touch of something against him and a frantic voice pleading, just pleading for him to hold. He'd felt a small hand curving on his and holding it tight and he'd felt curious and stilled. When he'd looked, the light was gone from in front of him, and the pain was numbed. He'd attempted to open his eyes, but the quiet, feminine voice had told him to save his strength. He didn't know why he had followed what she said in that soft, calming voice of hers, but he did. American... she was American, he realised. Realised, also, that it didn't deter him, that he didn't mind the thought. The thought to what was another thing, but he'd give it time. So he closed his eyes and went to blessed darkness.

He felt fingers comb through his longish hair, the very hair some had called greasy and lank and he stirred. The hand stilled, but at the little whimper he had emitted, they went back to stroking his hair. Something cool was pressed to his forehead. He blinked his eyes open and saw two people stand over him, looking worriedly at him and at the first sign of his wakefulness, the male of the two gave a shout for relief and went running for Madame Pomfrey. The woman stayed, her fingers still running through his hair and he reached out a hand to grip at her hand and she stilled.

He needed to try a few times, but he finally managed to croak out a "Who are you?" to her. She didn't answer him, just reached for a glass of water by his bed, and her jaw length hair fell into her eyes, a blood red. She could almost be a Weasley, she had the red hair of one. But she lacked the other main mark, the freckles. Her skin was smooth, pale and unblemished and her eyes, when she turned back to him, was a moss green.

"Here," she said, softly, and it was the same voice of before, the one that told him to hold on. "Have this. It'll ease your throat a bit."

He leaned up with her help and she pressed the glass to his lips, letting him ease his parched throat. As he gulped down the water, hints of vanilla assailed him and he closed his eyes. Finally, he finished and she eased him down on the bed. She was about to turn to go when his hand gripped her wrist. She turned back to him, question in her eyes.

"Stay with me," he croaked. It wasn't a question or a request. It was a demand, typical Snape. A slight smile crossed her face and she nodded. She sat down on the chair next to his and he didn't even notice that his hand still clutched her wrist. "Who are you?"

"Willow Rosenberg," she said, softly, as though afraid that a loud noise would disturb him. He found himself feeling slightly grateful for her thought. "I'm from America, Cleveland. I used to live in Sunnydale before it went all kaploo-ey-"

"You lived on the Hellmouth?" Snape interrupted and saw mild irritation cross her eyes. She bore it well, though, and merely nodded. He settled back to listen to her as she talked about her home, about the Hellmouth and left her be to talk, only stopped her a few times to ask question. Finally, he felt his eyes droop as wariness took hold of him, again. When his eyes fell, she got up and pressed a hand on his forehead, then replaced it with her mouth. When she straightened, she saw Draco standing before her with Madame Pomfrey checking on her patient. For the first time, she saw something like sympathy in his silver eyes.

"He'll remember, one day." It was softly uttered, a little bit of hope that both knew was fruitless. But Willow nodded, anyway, accepting the little lie for a moment of peace. She rubbed her eyes, laughing slightly; but the laugh was sad.

"He didn't even know my name," she said, wearily. "But he was just... _Severus._ I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't remember, anymore."

"He'll remember, Mrs. Snape," Draco said, politely, but leaned down to give her an awkward hug. She held on, though, clinging to the young man that Snape had thought of as a son.

"I hope so." She sniffed, waved him away. "Go check on your mother and your fiancée, young man. I'll be fine, here."

Draco hesitated. "Are you sure?" She nodded.

"He's my husband. I'll stay here." Draco stood still, hesitating for a moment, then he nodded and left the room, abruptly to go on a search for Narcissa Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley. Willow sat on the chair she had vacated and picked up his pale hand. She turned it and ran her thumb lightly on the gold band she saw there.

"_A vila mon coeur li mo,_ my love," she whispered softly. "You have my heart, so guard it well." She traced the etched words on the surface of the ring and finally let herself cry; cry for her, for him, for them, and for their unborn child. Madame Pomfrey respectfully left them alone while Willow cried for everything she had gained, then lost in the final battle. Voldemort had dealt her a blow... her son would be born without his father knowing who he was. She could only hope that she could make him love her, again. She tightened her hand on his and laid her head on the edge of his bed. She fell asleep within moments, so she didn't noticed that a little while later, the hand flexed under his and black eyes opened to see the redhead sleeping, her tears leaving a trail on her cheeks. He lifted his other hand to brush away strands of hair and then the back of his hand brushed against her cheek. She nuzzled into the familiar touch, not waking up, and he watched, carefully. He turned around what he'd heard before in his head as he looked at the woman, thought about what he felt about that. Finally, he gave up and decided that he would do it a step at a time. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Dreamless sleep... _wife_."


End file.
